No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

He pulled the trigger again — another click. To his horror,
the Paslode’s battery light now blinked an urgent red. Sapped
by the cold weather. It had finally, finally happened.
“Oh, shit—”
He looked back up. Darby was still approaching, still
coming at him like his personal angel of death, limping but
eerily, inhumanly calm. And he noticed something else.
Something carried in her swinging hand, concealed from his
view behind her hip, an angular shape, half-glimpsed—
Lars’s Beretta.
No, his mind fluttered. No, that’s impossible—
* * *
Jay sprinted into the headlights, arms waving.
The snowplow stopped, big tires locking up, skidding
sideways as the airbrakes whined a shrill cry. The lights
surrounded her, igniting the snow at her feet, brighter than
daylight. She couldn’t see anything else. Just those twin suns,
overpowering.
She screamed — something she wouldn’t remember.
The engine made a chuffing sound. The cab door opened.
The driver was older than her father, bearded, potbellied, with
a Red Sox hat. He jumped out and raced to her, already out of
breath, shouting something.
She was winded too, and she collapsed to her knees in the
ice. He reached her, a stomping black shadow in the high
beams, and the truck’s engine made another chuffing sound.
Like her aunt’s German Shepard. Then the man grabbed her
shoulders, his whiskery face in hers now, Dr. Pepper on his
breath, bombarding her with questions.
Are you okay?
She was too out of breath. She couldn’t speak.
What happened?